


Watching

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-04
Updated: 2002-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S5, pre-'Into the Woods'. Anger, jealousy, paranoia, and hatred overcome Riley as he watches Buffy and Spike interact. A Riley POV with B/S friendship and relationship overtones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching

I smile as the door opens.

It’s her. She opens it.

And in that second, I can see it in her face. That one moment of disappointment when she recognizes that it’s _me_. She hides it well, just a brief flicker far back in her eyes, but it’s as plain as day to me because now I’m watching for it.

But then it vanishes, and I’m graced with a bright, cheerful grin. _Too_ bright and cheerful. It looks forced, faked, painted on after hours of practice in the mirror.

“Hey,” she says casually, “what’re you doing here?”

I shrug. “Had nothing better to go, so I just thought I’d stop by and see my girl.”

“That’s…sweet…” The way she hesitates before speaking the last word and looks at a fixed point behind me tells me all too clearly that that’s not what she really means. _That’s inconvenient for me; that’s irritating; that’s not giving me the space I want from you_ – that’s what she _really_ means.

I act like I don’t even see the subtext. “That’s me,” I smile. “Sweet and loving…” I lean in to kiss her, and she graces me with a few quick pecks on the lips.

I’d never really noticed before just how _unenthusiastic_ she is when we touch. Our kisses never linger anymore. It’s just straight, simple, and dirty. Get it over and done with.

“So, how’s your mom doing?” I ask politely, caring, everything that I can to be a good boyfriend.

Instantly her defenses snap up, closing her off from me. “She’ll be fine,” she says casually, obviously not wanting to discuss it further.

We stand there for a minute, awkward, half in each other’s embrace, although she seems to be slipping from my fingers, slowly inching away.

“So, yeah,” she finally says. “How are you?”

“Good, fine, great.” I laugh a bit nervously. After all, what am I supposed to say? I love you, but every single action you take tells me how much you don’t love me back? That I spend all my time thinking about how you could want me if I were someone else, different?

“Slayer, get your ass back in ‘ere so we can start up the movie again!” a brash, roughly accented voice calls from the living room.

 _Speaking of someone else…_

“Keep you shirt on, Spike!” she calls back. “I’ll be there in a minute!”

I look at her quizzically, and she gestures over to the popcorn maker. I noticed for the first time that she’s obviously just made a batch. She pours it into one of those shiny, silver bowls that everyone uses for popcorn, and I watch her silhouette.

She’s so beautiful. It makes my heart ache every time I see her full beauty and realize that it will never be directed at me.

She turns to me suddenly. “We were just having an impromptu Scooby movie night. You’re welcome to join if you want…”

“Which it why _Spike’s_ here?” I can’t help but bite back bitterly.

She rolls her eyes, trying to reassure me, I know, trying to convince me there’s nothing going on between the two them…

“He invited himself over,” she explains. “Mom wouldn’t let me kick him out.”

“Too bad,” I say with a small smile.

She smiles back, and I revel in my moment of victory. I can make her act like she hates him; I can make her say it out loud; I at least have the power over her outer self, if not her inner one…

My elation wears off as we enter the living room. When she said ‘impromptu Scooby movie night’, I didn’t think the _entire_ gang would be there. Except me, of course. But, no, there’s the entire group, lounging around the TV, cuddling up to their respective partners…well, except for Dawn…

But, I wonder, why didn’t _Buffy_ want someone to cuddle up to, too? Or, did she have someone?

I notice Spike’s stretched out over the entire length of the couch. There are no other seats empty. Was that how it was, then? Were the two of them lying there together, him spooned up against her back, brushing, touching?

I scowl at Spike as I enter, and he groans in response.

“Why’d you ‘ave to invite Cap’n Cardboard?” he complains.

Buffy bats at his feet. “Hello?” she retorts sarcastically. “He’s my _boyfriend_. He gets invited to these things. He doesn’t just _crash_ where he’s not wanted. Now, up!”

He takes entirely too long to get up, and Buffy swats him lightly a few more times. It seems to the casual observer that she’s just annoyed with him, but I’m _really_ watching them. And she’s touching him. A lot.

Like, that bat on the head? It was too light to hurt in the slightest. Sure, it _looked_ like a hit, but the _feel_ of it was a caress to the hair. She thinks I don’t notice things like this, but I do.

She’s finally managed to get Spike to sit up now. He’s sulking in his seat on one end of the couch, leaving the other two spaces open for us. I have the sudden, desperate urge to request that the two of us sit on the floor, as far away from _him_ as possible.

Buffy preempts me, though. She sits down… _directly next to him_! Very subtle there, Buffy. Hoping I won’t notice that you’re not content just to sit next to me? That I won’t see that little ploy for what it really was – an excuse to sit next to _him_?

She grabs hold of my hand and pulls me down next to her. At least for now, she’s sitting closer to me. Gee, I wonder how long that will last?

Xander restarts the movie once we’re settled down with the popcorn, and I discover it’s some old horror movie. One of those ones from the eighties with the really bad special effects. Why anyone would want to watch such a thing is beyond me…not that they’re really watching it. More like insulting it.

“Once knew a V’ron Demon that ‘ad a crush on squidy there,” Spike comments around a mouthful of popcorn, gesturing to the tentacled monster on screen. “Got pissed off every time someone tried to suggest it was fake.”

Buffy giggled. _Buffy giggled_! Buffy _never_ giggles! Not once in our relationship has Buffy _ever_ giggled at anything I’ve said!

“What about the zipper on its back?” she demands, still laughing and smiling at him in that way she never smiles at me.

“Well, see,” Spike turns to look at her, and now they’re in their own private little conversation where I don’t even exist, “’e argued that those were the feminine form ‘f back scales.”

“It’s a zipper,” Buffy insists. “You can see it perfectly clearly. Look, right there!” She gestures back to the screen. Good, at least there’s something outside of their own little private world now…

“Try tellin’ ‘im that,” Spike retorts. “Plus, as ‘e would say: ‘how come it’s so big then?’” He adopts a funny accent for this part. It’s kind of a dumb-guy American accent. I’ve heard him use it before. It’s the one he uses to imitate _me_.

 _Everyone_ laughs at his charicature.

“Yeah,” Dawn agrees, “like it’s not so blown up that you can see right through it…”

“Those’re V’ron Demons for ya,” Spike shrugs.

Buffy turns back to look at him. “You’re making this up,” she accuses.

He gives her that trademark smirk of his. The one that’s sexy and dangerous and just plain _cool_ all at the same time. “Maybe…” he responds slyly, holding her eyes with his own.

Damn, I wish I could look like that! Maybe if I was sexy like Spike, then she’d…

“I say you are,” she bites right back.

“Tha’s your opinion then, luv.” They don’t think that I hear the way his tongue lingers over the ‘luv’, that I see the surging fire light up in both of their eyes, that I feel the unbreakable connection and tension between them...

“You’re lying,” Buffy insists.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

With every negation their bodies move a few inches closer, until by the end of it they’re nose and nose and chest to chest. Buffy’s breathing heavily and her cheeks are flushed and…oh god, so is Spike! And he doesn’t even _have_ breath or circulation!

“Guys, you’re missing all the lame pseudo-scientific garbledy-gook,” Willow complains from the loveseat beside Tara.

Buffy and Spike both turn back to the screen, but I notice that Buffy’s now sitting a little bit further away from me and a little bit closer to Spike…

We continue to watch the movie. Dawn gets tired and goes to bed. Comments become increasingly humorous, and unfortunately the most humorous ones are coming from Spike. Mine barely get chuckles. I’m being completely outclassed and I know it. Hell, _everyone’s_ comments are funnier than mine… It’s not fair, dammit!

I’m just building up to a nice sulk about this when Buffy surreptitiously reaches forward and reclaims the popcorn bowl from the coffee table. She settles it right down in her lap and begins to eat.

A beat.

And then Spike reaches over into her lap, _between her legs_ , and grabs some popcorn, too. Oh, _real_ subtle there! Do they have _any_ idea how obvious this symbolism is to a psych student? Do they honestly think I don’t know what’s going on?!

Their hands ‘accidentally’ bump, and they popcorn they had in their hands scatters. Apologetically, they pick up the kernels and pop them into their mouths one at a time.

I watch – almost as if in slow motion – as Buffy picks up one kernel that landed right in the crotch of Spike’s jeans and slowly places it between her lips, savoring the flavor before she swallows. Such a comfortable gesture, so _familiar_ … Spike reacts to it as well, looking nervously down at his lap. I can see he’s got an erection.

So, just why _are_ you so familiar with Spike’s crotch, Buffy? Your hands been there before? Your lips? Is that why you’re reacting, Spike? Some pleasant memory?

They act like everything’s normal, of course. Like _that’ll_ fool me. The popcorn bowl is empty soon, and Buffy puts it back on the table.

She sits back and turns to me with a hopeful little smile. “Will you give me a foot massage?”

“Sure,” I smile back. _What are you up to now?_ I think.

She sits sideways on the couch so her feet are in my lap and her body…rests right up against Spike’s shoulder. Oh, _very_ clever, Buffy. I can see you’re getting better at the whole subtlety thing.

I slowly begin massaging her feet. Sometimes it scares me how completely under her thumb I am.

She sighs appreciatively, whether at my actions or her nearness to Spike, I don’t know. Slowly, her head tilts to the side at just the perfect angle where I can’t see if it’s on the couch back or on Spike’s shoulder. It is very well done. I have to give them that. They must have spent a lot of time practicing.

She yawns slightly, and Spike yawns in response, and he stretches out his arms as he does so. Of course, he does the leave-your-arm-around-her-shoulder-after-yawning thing. His arm’s still on the back of the couch, though, not touching her in any way. Oh, they’re _very_ slick. They’ve got hiding their little ‘relationship’ from me down to an art form.

I wonder if her yawn was some secret little cue they’ve got worked out. I wouldn’t put it past either of them.

Buffy seems to be falling asleep now. Her eyes are staying shut longer and longer after each blink, and her head’s slumping. There’s no doubt that it touches Spike’s shoulder now. She starts a little bit after the first _obvious_ physical contact, but then slips back down against him as she ‘falls asleep’ once more.

Most tellingly, Spike doesn’t push her away in the slightest. His thumb is lightly caressing the fabric of her sleeve now, his movements so minimal that he hopes I won’t notice.

But I’m _watching_ him. I’m watching them. I know.

Finally, the movie comes to an end, and the Scoobies slowly and tiredly get up. It’s well past midnight now. The only two exceptions are – of course – Spike and Buffy. They stay together even as Willow and Tara say their good-byes.

Spike leans over to “try to wake the Slayer up,” but it’s so obviously an excuse to brush his lips against her ear that I can’t even stand to watch. So I help Xander and Anya clean up the living room.

Every touch, every hidden caress I see only makes the picture clearer to me. I wonder when it started, _how_ it started… A violent, passionate kiss provoked by life-or-death peril? An argument that got out of hand until the _passion_ boiled over? A fight where blows turned from pain to pleasure?

I suppose it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that every time she closes her eyes I know it’s not _me_ she’s seeing. Oh no, she’s remembering _their_ passion. She’s seeing cold, naked limbs intertwining with hers, a fanged face looking down at her as he pounds her into the mattress. I’m sure it’s not even Spike all the time. Angel, Dracula, Spike, all her _vampires_. It’s _them_ she’s making love to…

I can hear it in the muddled phrases that escape her lips as she dreams:

    “…my Angel…”  
    “…so good…”  
    “…bleached idiot…”  
    “…want you…”

And the list just keeps going and going. I’ve learned not to even touch her while she’s asleep now if I don’t want some _vampire’s_ name to escape her lips.

After all, _they’re_ what she wants, not me. It was never me. I was just a temporary replacement, and now that’s she’s found herself a new vamp toy…

Xander and Anya leave and, in the quiet of their absence, I hear muffled voices from the living room. In morbid curiously, I move over to the door, listening in on their conversation.

“So, how’s Mum doin’?” Spike’s asking.

Buffy sighs. Her head is still against his shoulder, and his hand is stroking her hair comfortingly. “She’s pretty tired, but I think she’s getting better. The doctors say her prognosis is good… It’s just so hard to see her like this…”

“I know, pet,” Spike smiles down at her. “But Mum’s a tough one. She’ll pull through it, you’ll see. She’ll be back to ‘er old self in no time…”

“Thanks.” She smiles up at him, a genuine, friendly smile. The way she _never_ smiles at me anymore. And then she blushes. “I-I don’t know if I could’ve gotten through this without you, Spike. Thank you…”

 _He_ blushes as well. And I recall that night when her mom first went to the hospital. The one when he stayed all night with her. I bet that’s the night it started.

“Jus’ wanna see Mum make it,” he responds.

And, oh yeah: the way he refers to Buffy’s mom as just plain ‘Mum’, like he and Buffy are married or something? Absolutely sickening.

“She likes you, you know,” Buffy smiles.

Yeah, that’s right. Her mom _approves_ of you as her boyfriend…

“The feelin’s more’n mutual.”

That’s it! I can’t take it anymore! I storm out the door and slam it behind me, trudging furiously down the street and back home. So _that’s_ the way it is, huh? Gonna string me along while you and your vampire lover play house? Bet the two of you are at it right now, huh? Are you enjoying it, Spike? Are you enjoying fucking _my_ woman? Because she _is_ mine, you know. She may want you, but _I’m_ the one she’s able to take out in public. _I’m_ the one that determines her social and romantic life…

And then a rather brilliant idea occurs to me. I look back over my shoulder and can just _barely_ make out the lights of her house in the far distance.

“Have your fun!” I scream back at them, knowing that even with the enhanced senses they won’t be able to hear me. “I hope you enjoy it! But just remember, I have the power to _destroy_ you, Buffy! Make you lock your heart up so tight that no one will _ever_ get in again! And how will _you_ like that, Spike? Knowing that you can’t ever really have her, just like I couldn’t?!”

I’ve continued to walk as I’ve made this tirade and suddenly I find myself at one of my favorite haunts. The vampiress at the door greets me with a welcoming smile. What better way to destroy that heart that Buffy won’t give me by trying to become that which she wants?

I smile back.

* * *

“What was that?” Buffy asked in surprise when she heard the door slam.

“Soldier Boy,” Spike informed her.

“What’s his problem?” she wondered, lifting her head up off of his shoulder and stretching.

Spike shrugged, already missing her touch.

“Did he seem a bit…on edge to you?” Buffy asked curiously.

Spike snorted. “Impossible to tell what with that rod permanently shoved up ‘is…uh…” He abruptly trailed off at Buffy’s scowl.

However, she ruined the effect of Slayer Wrath by yawning again.

“You look tired, luv,” Spike said, reluctantly retracting his arm her shoulder and moving away from her warmth.

Buffy yawned again. “No rest for the innocent,” she agreed.

He couldn’t help but crack a wry smile. “Innit that ‘the wicked’, pet?” he retorted.

She sighed in annoyance. “Can’t be,” she informed him. “Otherwise _you_ would be the sleep-deprived one.”

He grinned. “Can’t argue with that,” he agreed, getting up and recovering his duster from the coat rack. “’ll see you ‘round then, Slayer.”

“G’night, Spike,” Buffy responded, heading upstairs.

Spike made it as far as the tree outside her window before stopping to lean up against it. For a second, he thought he heard the faint sound of shouting in the far distance. Then, he shrugged it off and lit up a cigarette to wait the night away outside his love’s window…


End file.
